


Identical

by Anticipatio



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Clones, Condoms, Gags, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anticipatio/pseuds/Anticipatio
Summary: Clonetrooper porn is real and Tryst is going to get to the bottom of it.





	Identical

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [One Shot Kink Meme!](https://ospnkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/772.html?thread=15108#cmt15108) I spent WAY TOO LONG on something that I initially thought was going to be a fun, quick little PWP. Whoops!
> 
> Original prompt: There's a lot of rumors about the clone troopers having sex with each other/orgies in the barracks, and it's a fairly popular niche genre of holoporn. Tryst makes a dirty joke about it (or mentions that he totally has some) in front of Bacta expecting to get a rise out of him, but instead Bacta is like, well, yeah, clones fooling around with each other was totally a thing. Cue Tryst becoming slightly obsessed with prying more details out of him, which turns into slightly obsessed with thinking about it, which turns into trying to get into Bacta's pants.
> 
> Hope I did it justice!

Tryst nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw the holovid thumbnail for the first time. The face that looked back at him was almost _too_ familiar for comfort, which wasn’t an uncommon feeling when dealing with unfamiliar clones. The context, though…

The clone on the thumbnail had his mouth wide open, eyes unfocused and dark, with a thick cock drooling precum across his lips. Another clone smiled against his neck, and a third was the one holding the dick against his mouth while kissing up the column of his throat. They each had quirks that made them uniquely identifiable, but Tryst thought, in a moment of panic, that he was looking directly at Bacta.

As he calmed his racing heart, Tryst clicked through the video at various timepoints and chewed the inside of his mouth to suppress the wide, lecherous grin that split his face.

As morning came around, he blearily motioned through his normal routine: demanding caf as Tamlin mirrored his actions with bantha milk and spending a considerable amount of time blinking the sleep from his eyes with his head in his arms. This morning, however, Tryst certainly did not forget what was saved within the datapad slipped under his pillow, and his head practically buzzed from excitement.

Maybe a little lust, too. Not that he’d admit it.

He and Bacta both side-eyed Tamlin as he wandered out of the door with his cup of bantha milk. “Where’re you going, buddy?” Bacta asked, pouring out Tryst’s cup of caf.

“I have business to attend to with Mr. Scaleyface. He’s been lookin’ at the others funny, and I wanna get to the bottom of his feelings before he acts on them.”

“Oh,” Bacta conceded, “Well, have fun then.”

“Thank you for the milk, Uncle Bacta.” Tamlin turned on his heel to bow his head in an automatic gesture before meandering out of the doorway.

Bacta returned to the stovetop to prod at the mound of powdered egg and breakfast jerky that sizzled in the pan. Tryst sipped at his mug and watched for a moment from under his lashes. “‘S not strong enough.”

The clone called out over his shoulder, “Then maybe you should try makin’ it for yourself.”

Hook, line and sinker. “Go kriff yourself,” Tryst replied easily, trying to hide the giddiness that threatened to eek into his voice.

Bacta stiffened for a moment and looked over with narrow eyes. “What’s your pro—”

“That is,” Tryst interrupted, “If you haven’t already. _If you know what I mean._ ” He waggled his eyebrows for dramatic effect.

One of Bacta’s brows raised and a faint blush peaked on his ears. “Sorry, but what are you on about?”

“Y’know!” Tryst snorted, taking a long gulp of caf with a shudder. “‘Cause you’re a clone. And you were surrounded by other clones in clone boarding school or whatever.” He paused, frowning into the bottom of his cup. “Does it count as masturbation it if it’s with a clone?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, actually,” Bacta deadpanned without missing a beat, returning to the stovetop where he began to plate several portions of scramble and bring them to the table. He weakly raised an arm in greeting as Lyn shuffled in before continuing, “I guess some of the guys justified it like that, but I wouldn’t really know.”

“Justified what?” Lyn covered her mouth as she spoke while chewing.

“Hold on,” Tryst drawled, “Are you really implying that clones got it on with each other for real? Like, it’s not just some whacko niche porn?” He made a rude hand gesture for clarity.

The twi’lek choked on her food and coughed out a rough, “Excuse me?!”

“I mean, yeah,” Bacta cautiously started, heartily slapping Lyn in the back as she recovered, “We were _basically_ all teenagers placed in close proximity with one another, no different than any other military.”

Tryst’s mouth opened and closed in aborted replies, the untouched plate in front of him scooped up by a wide-eyed Tamlin skittering in and out of the kitchen with a quick, “Thank you!” Dawning horror crossing Lyn’s face caused Bacta to backtrack (Bactatrack, heh), “I mean, I didn’t, uh, partake or anything! It’s just a thing that I know happened.”

“Yeah, right,” Tryst accused, prodding his finger into Bacta’s chest, “You had the opportunity and you _didn’t_ take it? I don’t buy it.”

“ _Tryst!_ ”

“I had more important things to do,” the clone snorted, shoveling a bite of breakfast into his mouth from the massive portion he gave himself.

“Oh please, anyone who’s anyone would take the chance.”

“Sorry to disappoint, mate,” Bacta chuckled into his glass of protein shake, “Maybe we’ll find someone who has and you can prod ‘em with all of your intrusive questions.”

“Maybe we will,” Tryst harrumphed, idly eating from Lyn’s plate while she recovered.

Over the next few days, Tryst would glance at Bacta out of the corner of his eye every time sex was brought up (which, on the Mynock, was an almost constant topic). He would watch to see if Bacta touched any of the names on his arms and would steal glances at his face, his posture.

His ass, in some cases.

That was one of the things that seemed to haunt Tryst the more he thought about it. He’d revisit the video over and over again during his off moments of privacy, imagining Bacta in intimate situations with his brethren. It was different than when he first came across it; he _knew_ Bacta. He knew how Bacta would exercise for hours on end in the quiet of the night, leaving results that were visible through just about anything he wore. He knew that Bacta was in equal parts hot-tempered and passionate, leading to those moments where he’d get into some stranger’s face if they so much as _looked_ at his adopted family the wrong way. And now he was imagining Bacta in place of the nameless ex-soldiers on his datapad.

It was probably karked up to be thinking of your drug addicted crewmate in any sort of compromising position, let alone getting gangbanged by his fellow soldiers. Tryst wasn’t one for pure intentions, though, and let his mind wander every time he pulled up a new vid. Sometimes, “Bacta” would be the one riding an unseen clone. Other times, the camera would zoom in on “Bacta” chewing his bottom lip as he thrust up into a different clone’s willing throat. It was becoming a bit of an unhealthy obsession at this point.

Whether or not he _wished_ it were true, Tryst couldn’t shake the feeling that something _definitely_ happened while he was still on Kamino. So, a few days after his initial discovery, he sat across from Bacta in the kitchen while he was reading dense medical texts on alien biology, several empty baggies of fruit gummies strewn across the dining table.

“So like, not even with Synox?”

“Hmm?” Bacta underlined a short phrase with a worn grease pencil.

“You didn’t bang Synox?” Tryst clarified, propping his back to the wall while one leg slung up the back of the bench. His kimono slid dangerously high up his thigh, but he did nothing to correct this.

Bacta took a few deep breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fraternizing with a superior officer was frowned upon. Just like any other military unit.”

“That isn’t a no, Bacta.”

“No, Tryst,” the clone sighed, “I didn’t have sex with Synox.”

Tryst considered this for a moment, the room silent except for the silent turning of a page. “Then, what about like, I don’t know. Were there clones that had names like ‘Sex Kitten’ or something?”

A sour look momentarily crossed Bacta’s face. “Anyone that’d gotten themselves a name like that had enough of a reputation that no one would really want to deal with that drama.”

“C’mon Bacta, I know you _love_ drama,” Tryst coaxed. He contorted his upper half to face the clone with his elbows on the table, one leg still propped up. Bacta looked up and glared weakly, mumbling, “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

“You know what else you’ll give me? The name of the clone you kriffed. _I know you did it._ ”

Bacta unceremoniously closed his book, slid out of the booth, and walked out, leaving Tryst with a table full of candy wrappers. Tamlin squealed around the corner, chased by an overexcited Tony. Tryst maneuvered back into a normal seated position and pulled his kimono down over his legs as the two of them came to a full stop in front of the booth.

Tamlin looked between him and the mess for a few moments before turning on his heel and running back down the hall, squealing, “Uncle Lyn! Tryst made a mess in the kitchen!”

“No, what?!” Tryst yelled, scrambling out from the dining booth, “It wasn’t me! Goddamnit, Tamlin!”

He was blocked at the doorway by Leenik, who clutched a saucy book in his arms and looked up and down the hall nervously. “For what it’s worth,” he stage-whispered, “I totally think you’re right.”

“You’re damn right I’m right,” Tryst grumbled, leaning around the doorframe, “Bacta _totally_ left all those wrappers without cleaning up.”

“No! I mean—ugh!” Leenik forcibly shoved the human back into the kitchen, shutting the doorway behind them and cocking his hip to the side. “Bacta _totally_ did it with another clone on Kamino. It’s _super_ obvious.”

“Oh, right.”

Leenik hummed and considered the cover of the book he was holding, “I dunno what’s making him deny it so hard. It’s not _that_ weird. I know that if _I_ had a clone, I’d do him in a heartbeat.” The rodian nodded resolutely.

Tryst looked Leenik up and down, hands on his hips. “I thought you were, y’know.”

“It’s a completely different issue if it’s my clone.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you that,” Tryst admitted. He pushed Leenik aside and opened the door once more, peering at the pull-up bar marking the entrance to the gunnery bay. “I’ll update you when I figure out who it was.”

“May the force be with you.” Leenik mock saluted.

“And also with you.”

No one really invaded Bacta’s domain unless there was either an emergency or someone had a practical joke they wanted to play on him. Either way, there wasn’t really a lot of time to linger and take in the cramped surroundings, ostensibly made even tighter with how much crap he hoarded. _Sneaking into a boy’s room,_ Tryst thought with a smirk, _Dalliance would be so proud._

He scrambled up into the narrow turret control room and could practically _feel_ the annoyance radiating off of Bacta as he slammed a book shut. Whatever he planned to say to confront the clone was quickly cut off, “You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

Tryst laughed and leaned against an adjacent tall, sturdy stack of books, “Not until I get some real answers, buddy-o’-mine.”

The sounds of a squealing Tamlin and a barking wafted up from the turret access, startling Bacta into closing it with a faint pinkness spreading across his face and the tips of his ears. “If you _really_ want to know,” he acknowledged, “There was one clone who went by ‘Bicycle’.”

Feigning confusion, Tryst raised a brow and motioned for Bacta to explain.

“He was, ehh, kind of considered the barrack’s _bicycle._ ” He sounded both exasperated and desparate.

“So everyone wanted to _ride_ him,” Tryst slowly, “Including you?”

The flush on Bacta’s face brightened. “Not to the extent that he wanted me to, but yeah. I wasn’t really _lying._ We just, never really got past…” He motioned in a way that would have been lewd if it weren’t so vague.

“Lie of emission,” Tryst argued.

“Omission.”

“What’d you omit?”

“For the love of…” Bacta groaned, hiding his head in his hands, “Why did you even want to know, anyway?”

When Tryst took a moment to consider the revelation, something ever so slightly warm curled into his belly. His eyes traced the line of Bacta’s broad shoulders and he very carefully concocted a response in his head, bare feet brushing against the hatch separating them from the rest of the ship while he leaned forward.

“No special reason. Just found some vids of clones in some unprofessional positions.” Tryst suppressed a laugh when Bacta peeked above his hands with an _indescribably horrified_ expression. “And, well, you know.”

He carefully moved a hand to touch Bacta’s thigh. “Thought about you.” Something about the honesty of that statement made Tryst’s heart clench, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Tryst…” Bacta warned, eyes going dark and darting to the side.

“Thought the thumbnail had your face for a second,” the human laughed, undaunted. “And honestly?” His hand moved higher up Bacta’s leg, who responded with a barely suppressed yelp. “It kinda turned me on.”

Temporarily breaking away from whatever spell Tryst had on him, Bacta snorted as if to say ‘what doesn’t?’ The moment of levity bolstered Tryst to lean more of his weight on the clone, both hands on Bacta’s thighs as he balanced precariously on the edge of the opening. Everything paused for just a moment in Tryst’s head, and he was _certain_ he was about to be sucker punched into next Friday until Bacta sighed out, “Kark it,” and pulled him fully into his lap.

Tryst could practically taste the fruit snacks Bacta had eaten in their shared breath, making a shudder run up his spine. “I’ll leave if you really want me to.”

Bacta considered this for a moment, scanning the human’s eyes, until he settled his forehead against Tryst’s and breathed out, “Never wanted you to,” as he closed the distance between them.

He kissed like he was running out of time, Tryst thought, which wasn’t _entirely_ untrue. His mouth opened in a gasp and he wrapped his arms around Bacta’s shoulders lazily, smiling around the clone’s tongue like a loth-cat who got the cream. A hand creeping up to comb into his hair and the feel of shifting musculature against his body made him moan and rut into Bacta’s hard stomach. If he was down for fast and rough, Tryst could go for _fast_ and _rough._

A hot, wet mouth dragged down the length of Tryst’s throat when they parted for air, coaxing soft sounds from deep in his chest. “If I die after this, so help me,” he murmured, scratching at Bacta’s scalp and hearing his warning growl. The clone bit roughly into the junction of Tryst’s neck and shoulder, eliciting a loud enough shout that Bacta slapped a hand over his mouth. “Kriff, Tryst, this turret isn’t _soundproof_ ,” he complained, stopping to sigh at the desperate look he was given. “Right, another fetish. Sure. Fine.”

Whatever tumbled aimlessly when Bacta rummaged for a clean oil rag was not as urgent as the fire that lit up in his groin at the sight of a hastily gagged Tryst staring at him with hooded, dewy eyes. Tryst’s sudden complacency made him feel hot for some unexplainable reason. Perhaps it was the way his body went totally loose and limp in his arms, relying completely on Bacta’s frame for support. How quickly he trusted Bacta to take care of him. “You’re _really_ easy, huh,” the clone mused aloud.

Tryst affirmed with a whine behind the oil rag and another clumsy thrust against Bacta, feeling the silk of his kimono slide off one of his shoulders and the tied front loosen. Bacta mouthed at an exposed nipple, teeth grazing it as it peaked and _wow_ , Tryst in this moment was glad that he was so predictable that Bacta knew how to get his engine revving without any prior experience together.

Moving close within the tight space, Bacta laved his other nipple with his tongue and pulled the kimono off entirely. Tryst’s hands immediately slid up the front of his shirt, tracing the musculature carved into Bacta’s torso and forcing him off long enough to fling the shirt off. Tryst gave him an appreciative look and pressed their chests flush together, chewing on the cloth drying his mouth.

Bacta’s large hands clawed down Tryst’s sweat-slicked back and ran over the curve of his ass, groping roughly. He marveled at the softness of his crewmate’s body and how it gave way to the crescents of his nails. The thought of Tryst feeling the sting of the red lines that adorned his back in the shower later made him huff out and shiver, hoisting Tryst’s deadweight body just far enough back to give him access to Bacta’s pants.

Tryst scrambled to unbuckle Bacta’s belt and unveil his hard cock while the clone leaned back to grab shakily at a bottle of scentless lotion propped inconspicuously on a ledge. He slicked a hand and moved to grip their dicks together as Tryst rutted aimlessly, but was stopped by a surprisingly firm grip on his forearm and a hard gaze. His confused look prompted the man on his lap to push his hips back incessantly against Bacta’s hand, and the revelation of Tryst’s intentions made him feel entirely too tight in his skin, let alone the small compartment of the turret. “Are you sure?”

Another hard, if slightly annoyed glare and furious nodding. Alright then. The hand full of Tryst’s ass pulled to spread him as wide as he could in their position, punctuated by a muffled, unabashed moan. Tryst buried his head against the side of Bacta’s neck and scratched matching lines up his back, body strung in anticipation. The first swirl of a fingertip against his hole forced the air out of his lungs and he focused on relaxing as Bacta pushed his index finger in.

His fingers were thicker and more calloused than Tryst’s, and it was almost overwhelming to feel the clone wrapped around and within him. He writhed underneath Bacta’s intense gaze, feeling the way he poked at prodded for—

 _There!_ Tryst wanted to shout, gnawing the fabric until it began to fray. Whatever expression he made had Bacta look at him with wide, curious eyes and halt his movement. “Was that—? Are you—?” he babbled, and _God,_ Tryst almost forgot that his own experience vastly outweighed _both_ of his crewmates combined. He lurched as far forward as he could manage and brought his hands down to stroke at Bacta’s hardness, pleading with batting eyelashes and hips rocking back.

With a gasp and an audible gulp, Bacta continued his ministrations with a touch of hesitation, weakly thrusting against light touch of lithe hands. Tryst reached back impatiently and forced Bacta to uncurl his hand and use two, then three fingers in short order. He had half a mind to rip the cloth from his face and make his demands clear, but even the tiniest loss in power made electricity bolt up and down his body. 

Desperately, one of Tryst’s hands clumsily reached for his discarded kimono and shakily fished a condom out of an internal pocket. He whined at the feeling of emptiness as Bacta pulled his fingers out to recover the lotion, feeling his body burn at the sight of the clone rolling the condom and lube on his shaft in short order.

A lull fell on the two, which did more to frazzle Bacta than soothe his nerves. He looked at Tryst’s flushed face, his smudged, smoky eyeliner from the day before doing nothing to hide how his pupils were so dilated that his irises looked to be nothing more than gold leaf ringing darkness. He opened his mouth a few times in aborted attempts to voice his concerns, fingers dancing nervously on the bony flare of his crewmate’s hips. “If you wanna stop…” he murmured, resisting the temptation to look away.

Mischief sparked in Tryst’s eyes, something akin to a genuine smile made the beginnings of his stress-induced crow’s feet crinkle. Bacta watched, hypnotized, as he sat up far enough to line himself up and drop slowly onto the clone’s hardness.

There hadn’t been an opportunity to do this for a few years, Tryst recalled as he felt numb to everything but the overwhelming heat and pressure against his prostate. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was distantly aware that Bacta was shaking against him, feeling anchored with arms wrapped around his middle. Every gasp and hiss against his neck fueled the fire that threatened to engulf him, and his hips began to rock on their own accord despite the sting of being stretched too much too quickly.

Really, though, that was the opposite of an issue for a masochist.

Bacta loosened his grip and settled his hands back on the small of Tryst’s waist, allowing him the freedom to ride him smoothly, his own dick wedged between their bellies. Tryst knew how wrecked he looked, the rag in his mouth soaking through as he moaned and drooled into it and hands scrabbling against the slick surface of Bacta’s shoulders while he bounced. He felt positively _full_ and every time he twisted his hips on the downbeat _just right,_ stars burst behind his eyelids and his legs jolted.

He was so close, and Tryst knew that Bacta was right beside him with the way he whispered praises into his ear (“So good, ‘s so _good…_ ”) and forced him to keep pace with nails digging crescents into Tryst’s waist. His cock dribbled between them and made him feel all that dirtier and it felt as though the slightest breeze could push him off the edge.

Which is why he whimpered and screamed into his gag when Bacta clasped his wrists above his head and twisted to push him into the wall, driving harder into Tryst’s ass while his other hand gripped high on a thigh. His legs came up to wrap around the clone’s waist, heels digging into his back while he writhed and mewled. Pain bloomed as Bacta drove his teeth into his shoulder and he finally, _finally_ tipped over the edge, cumming across his chest and feeling so exquisitely _used._

The taste of copper filling his mouth and the way Tryst squirmed underneath him set Bacta off unexpectedly, feeling the human tighten around his dick. Some panicked voice in the back of his head matched the tightness in his chest and the way his muscles seized with cardiac arrest, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a damn if he died in that moment.

They stayed entwined for a few blessed moments, Bacta releasing Tryst’s wrists and subconsciously keeping track of Tryst’s heartbeat with the hand over his femoral artery. He let himself feel the calm of the afterglow until he saw red in the corner of his vision. “Oh, kriff.”

Tryst made a questioning noise, spitting the rag out of his mouth and complaining wordlessly as the warm body against him pulled away. The sudden emptiness as Bacta pulled out hastily made him jolt into full consciousness. “Gnngh, damnit, chill out,” he rasped. The clone glared at him weakly, tying off the condom and pulling the first-aid kit off the wall. Tryst was momentarily confused until he felt the dribble of hot blood down his arm and side.

A guffaw escaped him before he could suppress it. He half expected to be kicked out with the way Bacta looked at him with weary exasperation, but was equally unsurprised when he was handed a half-empty canteen of lukewarm water. The sting of antiseptic zipped up and down his arm, even with how gently he was being treated. He gulped the water eagerly and watched the way Bacta cleaned and dressed his wound with a steady hand, as if he hadn’t just had his mind blown minutes ago.

Speaking of which, Tryst could _feel_ the waves of anxiety coming off of Bacta. He’d dealt with post-coital regret before, but the fact that they worked in close proximity day after day put him on edge as well. “I can go, if you want,” he parroted, only half joking. Bacta jumped, as if shocked, before continuing with securing a square of gauze over the bite.

“The mouth’s got a lot of germs,” Bacta rumbled, wiping down Tryst’s front with the now soiled rag. “Gotta keep an eye on that, in case of infection.”

Tryst considered this as he shifted into a more comfortable position reclined against a duffel bag he suspected was full of lesai. “If a hickey was all it took to take Tryst ‘Danger’ Valentine down, I’d be dead a long time ago.”

“I think that counts as a little bit more than a hickey.”

“Not by my metrics.” Tryst shot his crewmate a lascivious grin, teeth gleaming in the low light. A withering frown crossed Bacta’s features before softening into something fonder, which gave Tryst the confidence to add, “We don’t have to make a big deal outta this if you don’t want to, y’know.”

The instantaneous change in the mood of the room was palpable and welcome. Bacta rolled his shoulders and made a sound as if he were going to start apologizing, or making an explanation, but stopped. He leaned back against the duffel bag, shoulder-to-shoulder with Tryst, and mused, “I bet Bicycle was in one of the vids you found.”

Tryst laughed, “Dude, wanna check?”


End file.
